Bleach Castroom
by gryphalkon
Summary: A building that connects to all fictional worlds, but is part of none. A place where Bleach characters go to relax, but that isn't always the case. Crossovers, crack, and general insanity ensue. Work in progress.
1. I'm sorry but I can't do that

_A/N- Crossovers, humour, all that fun jazz. This will be updated as I get crazy ideas, which does happen frequently. This is my first attempt at humour in the Bleach world, obviously AU, so please be kind :D. Love to hear from you in whatever form you may wish, though reviews are prefered over balloon messages ^^_

**I'm sorry but I can't do that:**

Kurosaki Ichigo, orange hair plastered to his head, stalked down the darkened halls of the giant building on the edge of the Bleach world. Never, _never_, again was he going to let Rukia talk him into going to the Soul Society carnival. He was soaked in places that he didn't know could even hold water, places he'd rather not think about. He picked up the pace a little, a set of dry clothes was only around the corner.

Suddenly the lights went out completely, leaving Ichigo standing in the middle of the hallway wet, tired, and ready to kill anything that moved. "Turn the lights back on!" he screamed futilely at the heavens, or rather the ceiling two feet above his head. It reverberated loudly, making his head ache.

A silky voice echoed from the air surrounding him, "I'm sorry, Dav-ah I mean Ichigo, I can't do that."

"Who the hell are you? And what did you do with the lights?" A vein in Ichigo's temple was throbbing, if the lights had been on and one had watched closely, one could imagine it was beating in time to "Number One".

"I'm nobody," the voice chuckled, "and because I could."

"Then nobody, turn the damn lights back on. I'm wet, I'm tired, and I have a fight scheduled with Grimmjaw in an hour," Ichigo wasn't looking forward to that, while Orihime always healed him immediately, being repeatedly stabbed in the stomach for faithful viewers wasn't his idea on how to spend the afternoon.

"Nah, I don't think I will," the voice dropped into a familiar formal brogue, though Ichigo couldn't have pinned a finger on who it was.

"Fine! Be that way, I'll find my way in the dark." Ichigo reasoned he had walked these halls plenty of times; the castroom _was_ right around the corner. He reached out a questing hand, running it along the wall blindly. Searching fingers found a junction of a wall, stumbling, his head made a brief, angry, acquaintance with it. Out of the meeting his head fared the worst, swelling to what felt the size of Renji's…nevermind he wasn't going to go there.

Ichigo was sure there wasn't supposed to be a wall there, fingers felt gingerly up and down the corner. Unfortunately it was all too real, not the figment of an overactive, slightly crazed mind. The corner turned the opposite direction than it should have, the universe hated him, hated him with a passion rivaling Byakuya's hatred of water sports.

Forging ahead, blind hands found a doorknob. Twisting the door open an ominous creak protested his actions. Really he should have stopped then, but he had never been the greatest at recognizing foreshadowing, even when it slapped him the face. Light spilled out into the hall, burning dark adjusted eyes. Ichigo moved inside the doorway, taking in the…sight.

"…and then I will take a potato chip and EAT IT!"

A dark haired boy was bent over a desk shoved in the corner of the room, back to Ichigo. Ichigo could hear the crinkling of a bag and the scratch of pen on paper. From the boy's wrist a long chain connected him to the room's other occupant, a pale thin figure, sitting in what looked like a very uncomfortable position. The pale figure looked up at Ichigo, appraising him over the top of a cupcake. "The chance that you are Kira is .00002%."

"Kira? Uhh, I don't think so, he's back with the Bleach psychiatrist," Ichigo slowly backed out of the room. Really foreshadowing could be a bitch if you didn't pay attention to it.

"Don't go, I need your name and your criminal record, oh and a picture would be nice," the dark haired boy said without turning around, "Just in case I have to kill you of course."

Ichigo whirled and bolted, damn the dark, he wasn't going to spend another minute with those weirdoes. Though he did wonder which fandom they were from. It could hardly be popular with such eccentric characters.

His headlong dash introduced him to another wall, this time it wasn't limited to his head. Ichigo picked himself up, leaving wet puddles on the tile floor. "Nobody! Stop fooling with me you bastard!"

"I'm sorry, Ichigo, I can't do that," the familiar voice of Nobody insisted, a hint of dark humor in it, "You are too much fun to torment."

Grinding his teeth Ichigo stalked off into the dark, he was going to find the Bleach castroom if it killed him.

­_______________

In the center of the building that touched all fictional worlds but was a part of none, slender fingers pulled a lever, arranging yet another corridor, leading the frustrated Kurosaki Ichigo farther from his goal. Ichimaru Gin grinned to himself, just because he wasn't in the current arc didn't mean that he couldn't have fun.


	2. I don't wear makeup!

_A/N: Slightly OoC, but here it is, no crossovers just Bleach. I would love to hear from you if you enjoyed it or have some other form of comment. The end reads as you may ^^_

**I Don't Wear Makeup!:**

Grimmjaw and Ulquiorra were heading down the long corridor to the Hueco Mundo castroom, deep within the heart of the large building. It hung somewhere in between dimensions, connecting all fictional worlds but part of none.

"Aww, I can't believe you ended my fight with Ichigo. It was just getting good; I could feel the sexual tension rolling off of him. I know he has the hots for me." Grimmjaw smoothed a hand through his hair.

"I believe you are mistaken, the shinigami Kurosaki Ichigo has the "hots", as you put it, for the girl Orihime. You are just a deluded piece of trash," Ulquiorra said deadpan, before turning left down the next corridor.

"Ulquiorra, you are just upset because you kidnapped the wrong one. You should have taken me instead. Unless, of course, you have conflicting emotions…," he batted his eyes at the stern faced Espada.

Ulquoirra ignored the question, and instead chose to walk a little faster. A pair of heat seeing glasses might have seen a faint rush of blood to his face underneath the copious makeup. They reached the door of the castroom, it was labeled, "Bleach: Hueco Mundo" in vaguely sinister lettering, it looked a lot like fake blood.

Ulquiorra tried to figure out how to open the handle of the door without taking his hands out of his pockets. Grimmjaw, enjoying his predicament for a moment, finally opened the door for him. "Oi, Ulquiorra. Why do you always keep your hands in your pocket? Is it cause ya don't want to ruin your nails?"

"That, is none of your concern," this time a unaided observer could have seen the faint coloring

Grimmjaw paused for a moment in the act of opening the door, he started to chuckle, "I'm right. Why Ulquiorra, I never knew you were such a fashionista."

"Shup up trash."

"As you wish, your majesty," he gave Ulquiorra a mock half bow, and gestured grandly to the open door. Ulquiorra walked past him without another look, but paused just inside the door. "Aizen-sama?"

It was chaos, bottles lay scattered across the floor and the stench of sake burned their noses. Aizen lay collapsed on the couch, sinking into its embrace. The normally immaculate lord of Hueco Mundo was distinctly…inebriated.

"Ulquoirra, do join," _hiccup_, "us…," Aizen waved absently with his hand.

"My Lord, what are you doing?" Ulquiorra, for once, actually looked like something other than a walking talking board, this time it was disgust that slightly marred his features.

"I…," the Lord of Hueco Mundo paused, looking confused. Really the expression was quite adorable, in a squint your eyes see-past-the-hideous-hairdo sort of way. "I…don't know…," _hiccup_.

"Us? You know you're alone," Grimmjaw muttered, was there a reason he followed this man besides his taste in clothes? One thing Aizen _had_ done for Hueco Mundo was elevated the fashion standard. Grimmjaw shuddered internally at the memory of Yammi's fashion taste _before _Aizen arrived. Paisley did _not_ go with plaid.

"Me 'nd Kyouie, o' course," Aizen patted the sword leaning drunkenly on the couch next to him, the sword's angle made it look even drunker than him, "She was," _hiccup_, "just tellin' me a joke…," eyebrows threatened to merge in thought. Stringing a sentence, let alone taking over the Soul Society, was out of the question, "…I think."

"Aizen-sama, Kyouka Suigestu's avatar is male," Ulquiorra maneuvered around the sake bottles on the floor, carefully placing his feet, his manicure was only a few days old, "and if my knowledge of alcohol is correct, lord, you are drunk."

"Ulquie, you sound like you," _hiccup_, "have ne'er been drunk 'fore. But you hafta be in the morin' to p-put on," _hiccup_, "that much makeup," Aizen said with all the candor of a five year, a very stupid five year old who didn't know better than to make dangerous people upset, or perhaps more like a five year old who thought that he was a god just because he could suddenly say he had 'minnie-ons'.

"Lord," Ulquiorra's board face transformed from a two by four to a sour splinter, "I have told you many times, I do not wear makeup. I believe you are mistaking me with Grimmjaw. My looks, I assure you, are completely natural."

"What looks?" Grimmjaw said spitefully. "And Ulquie," he sniggered, "I think if you stopped wearing makeup I might actually notice you."

"Shut up trash," an adorable if-you-could-see-underneath-the-inch-of-makeup blush graced "Ulquie's" cheeks. He turned and stalked from the room, crunching on sake bottles as he left, regardless of the manicure. Any more teasing and Grimmjaw would find a sword in a very…_uncomfortable_ place.


End file.
